


tulips and bandaids

by thebrotherswholoved



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU Verse, Bandaids, Childcare, Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, School Nurse x P.E. Teacher, Short, Swesson, Teaching, Tulips, Wincest - Freeform, like really short, no plot in sight, schoolyard AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 18:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18744448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrotherswholoved/pseuds/thebrotherswholoved
Summary: sam wesson tosses menstrual supplies and 99¢ bandaids at children. dean smith makes kids run extra laps so he can check out the hot school nurse with a few extra inches of height. sam’s empathy is as drained as his acetaminophen supply and dean’s lust is as red as his booty shorts.





	tulips and bandaids

**Author's Note:**

> a quick lil’ au I thought up during my spectacular visit to the school nurse. yes, it’s short. no, I don’t care.

“Okay, okay, I really need you to hold still... Yes, I know it stings, but unless you want it to get infected.”

 

Samuel Wesson is that tall, lanky, swoon-worthy new guy in the town of Heppner, Oregon that just kind of...exists. He moved to the area six weeks ago with sixteen boxes, a filing cabinet, plastic dining chairs, and an aging tabby cat—the only real life in his barely-furnished condominium—and has made no real effort to get to know his neighbors, coworkers, or any other life form outside of his obese cat and a few children he doesn’t utterly despise. He’s the guy with the stethoscope, sphygmomanometer, and reflex hammer in his bag even though all he does is give out pads, tampons, and standard strip bandages that are cheap and bought in bulk to kids who are either bawling their eyes out or calling him ‘Mr Moose’ behind his back. 

 

Right now, he’s in his storage closet sized room that the elementary-middle school that employs him has the audacity to call the nurses office while treating a fourth grader’s pseudo wound. How this child sustained a three inch long forearm laceration while in an environment that treats him like he’s made of glass he doesn’t know, nor does he want to know. 

 

He sighs and continues to dress the wound while grimacing at the obnoxious screeches outside his door (that doesn’t shut all the way, for the record). “No...Henry, this getting infected won’t turn you into a zombie. It’ll just—“

 

“You’ll die. So let Mr. Wesson do his job and save your life.”

 

Sam whips his head around and smiles slightly when he sees the bow legged man standing in the doorway with that signature smug smirk on his freckled face. He rolls his eyes and turns back to his pint sized patient. 

 

“You won’t die, but Mr Smith is right,” he finishes the dressing and signs the kid’s hall pass to get back to class, waving him off. “Out, you little gremlin. And please try not to have to come back!” 

 

Once the redhead is gone, he huffs and points at his framed diploma on the wall. “And that’s _Dr_ Wesson to you, Smith.” 

 

“Why’s a handsome doctor like you workin’ here with these hell-spawns?” Dean Smith sits himself down on the cot and stares at Sam, green eyes sparkling, 

 

“I could ask you the same thing. Why’re _you_ here, Mr I-Dodged-A-Ball-Once?” Sam stutters a bit while he busies himself with restocking the ibuprofen. Every girl in the school seems to have the same cycle and he needs a new shipment of the good stuff fast, lest the heathens come after him when he can’t feed their need for painkillers.

 

“‘m here because I get to meet pretty guys. Y’know, like the school nurse,” Dean adjusts his shorts against his thighs, which are as red as Sam’s cheeks. 

 

“The school nurse is only here because I don’t like the politics of working in a hospital,” he replies while sanitizing his hands. If he looks into those green eyes, he’ll just get lost; so, he has to keep himself busy. “Nice shorts, by the way.”

 

“I have to humiliate the kids at games somehow!” The P.E. teacher huffs. “Alright, look; I came in here for a reason and you have full permission to kick my ass like I know you can.”

 

“I’m intrigued, Smith.” Sam turns around to face Dean, who is fumbling with his hem shorts. “What’cha got?”

 

For someone who is always annoying and talkative, Dean seems to have his tongue caught in his throat. When he pulls a tulip from behind his back, however, Sam is rendered speechless as well. 

 

“Can I...take you on a date sometime? I know I’m not the best lookin’ fish in the sea or the smartest, and—“

 

“Stop.” Sam walks up to the man and plucks the flower from his hand with a crooked smile on his face. “Tomorrow night at eight?”

 

Unable to do much else, Dean nods with his mouth agape. The brunet tucks some hair behind his ear and examines the tulip thoroughly, gasping after a moment.

 

“Did you steal this from the third graders’ garden?!” He laughs, holding the stem to his chest. 

 

Dean blushes and nods with his signature smirk on his face. “Thomas Leahy threw a tennis ball at _my_ balls on Monday. They had it coming.”

 

Sam chortles and leans in to kiss Dean on the cheek, letting his lips linger a little longer than would be considered PG-13. “Thank you. I can’t wait. And, Dean?” 

 

“Yeah, Wesson?”

 

He grins evilly. “Make those little shits run an extra lap, would ‘ya?”

 


End file.
